by Jenni Wiltz
Sébastien closed the window without opening any of the attached documents. It wasn’t necessary. It was obvious what Ella was after.
She didn’t care about him at all. She’d just wanted access to his collection. He remembered watching her from the window of his office as she stood on ground level outside his building. He’d seen her shuffle through a stack of photographs. They must have been the pictures Jake referenced—the ones of her father’s stolen gems.
She’d been refreshing her memory, already on the hunt. All that self-righteous indignation about being the best at her job had been a front to make sure he hired her. All she’d wanted was access to the vault so she could search for some sort of proof that his parents or grandparents had purchased stolen goods.
A surge of anger flared up within him. He’d never felt like such an idiot. She’d used him, clear and simple.
Sébastien picked up the porcelain bowl of lemons on the kitchen island and hurled it to the floor, reveling in the sound it made as it shattered against the tile floor. It had all been a lie from beginning to end. Her willingness to work through the night, her urging him to call the cops…lies, all of it. If he had called the cops, the first thing she would have done was accuse him of owning stolen property.
And then he remembered the kiss. The strange electricity that flowed between them when they touched. How could she fake something like that? Was it possible? If so, she was better than any actress in Hollywood. But even if the attraction between them was real, she’d lied to him from the moment she met him. Just like Amanda, just like all the others who saw him as a name and not a person, she couldn’t be trusted. Not now and not ever.
The realization pierced him like a needle, injecting his veins with poison.
I was a fool, he thought. But Cherbourgs always win in the end. And I know just how I’ll win this round.
He decided not to confront her right away. He would keep her as close as possible and try to trap her, force her to admit she had an ulterior motive in working for him. He wasn’t positive that she’d stolen the jewels, so they still had a culprit to find. It was vaguely possible that she had wormed her way into the vault intending to accuse him of possessing stolen property, but the thief had destroyed her opportunity by taking the very evidence she needed. If that were true, they both had a very good reason for finding those missing jewels. The real showdown would occur when they found them—and only one of them could get what they wanted.
Chapter Eight
Dr. Peter O’Malley grasped her right arm and wrapped a blood pressure cuff around it. His warm fingers were surprisingly gentle as he took her blood pressure and her temperature, then swabbed and cleaned the numerous small cuts on her hands.
He hadn’t engaged in small talk like most family doctors and Ella was grateful. She wasn’t sure what she could say about what had happened or how she could characterize her connection with Sébastien. Far better, she thought, to say nothing at all.
While he worked, Dr. O’Malley hummed a lullaby that sounded vaguely familiar to her. It was comforting—the lilt and mournful tune reminded her of something she’d heard before and she wished she could remember where. “That’s a beautiful song,” she said.
The doctor smiled, his blue eyes twinkling. “Oh, that? An old Irish lullaby my mother taught me.”
Ella felt a quick pang of longing tear at her. “I wish I had more of a connection to my heritage,” she said. “I lost my father when I was a little girl, so he didn’t have time to teach me where we came from.”
O’Malley shook his head wryly. “I don’t think you’ve any Irish in you, more’s the pity.”
“I don’t think so, either,” she said, smiling.
Instead of placing several small adhesive bandages on her cut hands, he gently wrapped them both in gauze after he’d cleaned them. “Those cuts will breathe better this way,” he said, securing the adhesive tape. “I’ll give you an extra roll so you can change the gauze later.”
“I’m fine, really,” she said.
“What about the fall you took? Sébastien said you might be injured.”
She waved away the idea. “He’s exaggerating. It’s nothing.”
“Did you know,” he said, standing back and folding his fingers beneath his chin, “we doctors make most of our money on people like you? You ignore the small things like aches and twinges, believing them to be nothing. Then, once you realize they’re not so small, they’ve blossomed into big things that cost a lot of money to fix.”
Ella blinked, nonplussed. “You know, I never thought of it that way.”
O’Malley winked at her. “I didn’t go to medical school for nothing, young lady. Now tell me about that fall.”
Being careful to avoid any mention of the exact circumstances, Ella described how she’d fallen onto a concrete floor and landed on her right hip and shoulder.
Dr. O’Malley probed the tender spots with a gentle hand and asked her to do a few simple range-of-motion exercises. When she passed with flying colors, he gave her a clean bill of health. “You’ll be bruised, but nothing more,” he said. “A few aspirin for any aches or pains and you’ll be fine.”
He folded up his stethoscope and put it back into his little black bag. “Now, if you don’t mind my asking, Miss Wilcox, what were you and Sébastien really doing?”
Ella bit her lip. What do I tell him? she wondered. She felt terrible about lying to this kind old man, but she also didn’t want to tell him anything that he could later repeat to the police. She was going to be in enough trouble if the cops couldn’t find another suspect in the robbery. She didn’t need to add breaking and entering or hit and run to the list of charges she could face.
Ella looked into the doctor’s face, trying to choose the wisest course of action. His worn skin appeared chapped by cold and wind, speckled with his salt-and-pepper stubble. Smile lines traced their way around his lips and eyes. Beneath the lines, his eyes were warm and kind.
Still, she thought, how do I know I can trust him?
Finally, she decided that in his case, honesty was probably the best policy. “I don’t know if Sébastien would want me to say anything, and it’s probably better that you don’t know what we did. You know, in case the cops ask you any questions.”
O’Malley smiled and patted her wrist. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. I’m just an old man, after all.”
Instantly, she felt guilty. “Please don’t take it the wrong way,” she said. “I’m very grateful that you’ve patched me up, but some things you just have to do on your own.”
“I understand perfectly,” he said, nodding slowly. “Forgive the intrusion.”
“There’s nothing to forgive.”
“Go on,” he said, patting her arm. “Let’s go back and see what Sébastien’s up to.”
She followed his instructions gratefully, thankful she’d escaped without having to tell a lie. Dr. O’Malley followed her back into the kitchen, where Frau Müller was bent over a dustpan and Sébastien stood with his back to them, staring out into the gardens.
“Sébastien, what happened?” she asked.
“Nothing,” he said, without turning around. His voice was flat and cold, with none of the warmth he’d shown her earlier. His defensive posture reminded her of the day they met. And we’re right back to square one, she thought. As if nothing tonight ever happened.
Her heart clenched the same way it had when she’d realized Joey was just using her to scope out targets. She felt abandoned, just like she had then. It was stupid, really, because a two-year relationship wasn’t the same as a two-hour relationship. There was no way she could equate Sébastien and Joey, yet somehow the twisted feeling inside her gut made her feel just as bad about the former as the latter.
Stop it, she ordered herself. Sébastien doesn’t owe you anything. Besides, his family might have stolen from yours, remember? Stay away—it’s better for everyone that way.
Frau Müller finished sweeping up
the remnants of a beautiful blue and white ceramic bowl that she remembered seeing on the kitchen island. When she stood up, Ella could see she was wearing a nightdress and a bathrobe. She must have heard the dish break and come running, Ella realized.
She looked from the housekeeper to the white-haired doctor, who’d also interrupted his sleep to come to the aid of a Cherbourg. What made these people devote their lives to a family who didn’t seem to deserve their loyalty? Why did they do it?
I don’t understand it, she thought. It’s like I’m in a different universe. I don’t belong here…I want to go home and pretend none of this ever happened. But she couldn’t. She was involved in this now and she had to see it through to the end. For her father, if for nothing else. “What do we do now?” she asked. “Sébastien, shouldn’t Dr. O’Malley patch you up, too?”
“Don’t order me around,” Sébastien said, still refusing to turn around.
The sharp words stung her and she turned her head, hoping the doctor and the housekeeper wouldn’t see just how much he had the power to hurt her. “I’m just trying to help,” she said softly.
“I don’t need your help. Gertrude, you and Peter are dismissed for the night.”
Ella gulped. There goes my moral support.
She glanced hurriedly at both of them and they nodded at her as they left the room. She wasn’t sure her knees could hold her up for much longer and she longed to sit down, but she was afraid to show Sébastien any sign of weakness. He seemed intent on blocking out the kiss and punishing her for it. At the same time, she was determined not to let him know how much that decision bothered her.
When the echoes of footsteps had died in the hallway, Sébastien finally turned to face her. She studied his eyes, searching for the feelings she’d seen in them earlier. Now, however, they held nothing. His entire face seemed blank, a canvas stretched tightly over a frame.
Determined to be the first to speak, she cleared her throat. “What do we do now?”
“We try and figure out why anyone would steal my family’s jewels and not fence them.”
Ella blinked rapidly. So that’s how it was going to be. No acknowledgement of anything simmering between them, no nothing. Just straight-up business as usual. Fine, she thought. I can deal with that. “What could someone gain by holding onto them? I mean, if selling them would generate millions, what possible advantage could there be in hiding them?”
“Maybe someone doesn’t need the money.”
“They still have to have a goal,” she said. “No one would break into your vault and risk being arrested without a very good reason. Sébastien, what would someone have to gain by taking what belongs to you?”
“The exhibition,” he said, standing up straight.
A shiver ran up and down her spine. “They don’t want to sell the jewelry!” she breathed. “They’re trying to stop the exhibition!”
“Then it goes forward,” he growled. “And I’m going to make sure everyone knows it.” She watched him reach into his pocket and pull out his phone.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Calling my publicist. If someone wants to scare me off, they’re going to find out they’ve done just the opposite. Cherbourgs don’t back down and I’m going to prove it.”
She listened as he dialed and left a message with the publicist. He ordered her to set up a press conference for mid-morning tomorrow. It was just in time, she knew, for the press to attend and report back to their editors before the afternoon deadline at the newspapers.
When Sébastien hung up, Ella realized she’d been holding her breath. She exhaled and met his gaze evenly. “Can I go home now? I’d like to take a shower and get some sleep.”
“You’ll stay here,” he said. The tone of his voice left no room for argument.
She felt her heartbeat quicken once more, just when she thought she’d gotten it under control. “What? You’re keeping me here?”
He nodded. “I’m not letting you out of my sight until I find those jewels. Not until I’m positive you aren’t the one who took them.”
She felt as if he’d slapped her. “You don’t mean that, do you? After everything that happened tonight, you still think I might have done this?”
“It doesn’t matter what I think. What matters is that I get what I want—my exhibition. If I have to tie you to a chair to keep you here until that happens, I’ll do it.”
She watched the grim set of his jaw and the tense line of his shoulders. “I believe you,” she said.
Some of the fire had come back to his eyes, but it was all anger and none of the softness or tenderness she’d seen in the car. He really has blocked it out, she thought. But she knew that even if she tried to do the same, it wouldn’t work. The memory of his lips on hers was too fresh—and too powerful. She couldn’t help but want more, even if she knew it would never happen.
She closed her eyes and said his name gently. “Sébastien.”
“Yes?”
“I would have helped you willingly if you’d only asked. You don’t have to threaten to keep me here by force.”
“Of course I don’t. You have a far better reason for staying, don’t you?”
Ella’s eyes flew open. “What? What are you talking about?”
His eyes flashed dangerously in the dim kitchen lighting. “You know what I mean.”
She gulped nervously. “Are you talking about what happened in the—”
“No.”
Of course not. “Then I have no idea what you mean,” she said, talking quickly to cover up the quaver in her voice. “I’d like to get some sleep now. If you wouldn’t mind showing me where you’d like me to stay…”
It took all of the willpower she possessed to hold her head high and stare him down, daring him to say another word. In the end, he acquiesced. He waved his arm, indicating she should follow him.
As she trailed behind him through the hallway and up the marble circular staircase, she stared at the broad set of his shoulders. For the moment she’d been close enough to touch him, to press his hand to her breast, she’d felt the strength and power present in that body. She’d wanted all of it, all of him. But he’d apparently decided otherwise.
It wasn’t necessarily a betrayal, not like Joey’s. But it hurt nearly as much. She had the sense that she might have lost more this time, in the course of an hour, than she’d lost after two years with that rat bastard thief Joey.
She held back a sigh and a tear, not wanting to give Sébastien any indication of the roller-coaster that was spinning in her brain. I’m here to find out what happened to my father’s gem collection, not get involved with a spoiled, arrogant, self-centered rich guy who doesn’t know ramen from Rolls-Royce.
Ella dug her fingernails into her palm to keep from saying another word.
Chapter Nine
Ella heard the high-pitched squeal of the shed door opening in the backyard. Her bedroom faced the yard, so it was easy for her to be awakened by the neighbor’s dog barking or the wind in the tall elm trees that surrounded the shed. But that wasn’t what she’d just heard—she knew it.
Through the thin, single-paned bedroom window, she heard clanking and scraping noises coming from her father’s workshop. Then she heard something even closer. The sound of her father shuffling down the hallway toward her room in his house slippers.
She threw back the bedcovers and called out to him. “Daddy, what are those noises?”
Her father, Frederick, held a flashlight in one hand. “Stay here, Ella. I think a raccoon might have gotten into the workshop. I’m going to go shoo him away.”
“But I want to see the raccoon!” She flung her legs over the side of the bed and slid her feet into her own slippers, a pair that matched his except in size.
“Ella, no, I forbid it. You are to stay in this room, do you understand me?” Her father shone the light at her, causing her to squint. She had no choice but to accept.
“Fine,” she grumbled. She curled her lip an
d pouted as her father closed her bedroom door behind him and trudged out the back door, through the yard, to the workshop.
It’s not fair, she thought. I want to see the raccoon, too. She slipped out of bed and traced his path as quietly as she could, leaving the back door open just a crack so she could slip back inside easily. If I’m quick, she thought, maybe he won’t catch me.
As soon as she entered the backyard, she could hear angry men’s voices coming from her father’s workshop. That’s not a raccoon, she thought. What was happening?
Suddenly, she realized her father might need her. They’d always protected each other, ever since her mother died. When her father needed someone to hand him his welding goggles, she was there to help. When she needed someone to help her with her math homework, he was always ready. This year, she’d started third grade and was learning long division. He’d put in more than his share of hours helping her figure it all out. It was time she repaid the favor.
“I’m coming, Dad,” she whispered.
She reached for the workshop doorknob and turned it slowly, peeking her head through the door. She saw two men, dressed in black and wearing masks. One man was whistling and pushing all the things on her father’s main workbench into a big black bag. The other was holding a gun and pointing it at her father, who stood with his hands up in the corner of the workshop.
Without thinking, she gasped. Her father’s head swung towards her immediately and his eyes grew wide with fear. “Ella!” he called.
The man with the gun swung towards her, too. “Take a look at this,” he said, poking the other thief in the back.
The second thief stopped what he was doing and growled at her. “Get in here, girl, if you know what’s good for you.”
Ella stood frozen to the spot, heart beating like a hummingbird’s wings. Do I run away? she wondered. Or do I stay to help my dad? She swallowed her fear as she realized she had to help her father. She stepped inside and closed the door behind her, walking as calmly as she could over to her father.
